Brother-In-Arms, by Adrian Slonaker
Long after darkness had fallen over the stone monastery and its adjacent lush gardens, a middle-aged Franciscan in the slumber of denial was about to wake up. 'My brother-in-arms'. That's what was whispered discreetly into his ear, sending him to a cloud he'd never thought attainable and sparking a sense of fulfilment rarely yielded by matins or vespers. As sweat soaked his armpits, a stray arm brushed abruptly against his fingers. Half-coherent words and clumsy caresses activated an engine long dormant, revving curiosities as the two monks vaulted over the threshold, unaware of what pleasure or penance awaited them.
17/1/2018 12:31:17 am
Way to set a mood. Terrific imagery and a compelling tale.
23/1/2018 06:24:30 pm
Thanks very much, Adam.
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